


For Me, There Is Only You

by Immortalgothgirl



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Church Sex, F/F, Pining, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immortalgothgirl/pseuds/Immortalgothgirl
Summary: "You stand too close, girl!" Lady Aelswith scolds as the young girl pours the King some wine, so biting that Kela can't help but flinch, half out of shock and half out of hurt.Kela daren't make even the slightest move for the way her stomach flips and her heart quickens.





	For Me, There Is Only You

 

"You stand too close, girl!" Lady Aelswith scolds as the young girl pours the King some wine, so biting that Kela can't help but flinch, half out of shock and half out of hurt.

"It's alright." The King mumbles, but she's looking at her. Glaring at her, _he is mine!_ her burning gaze seems to scream.

Kela daren't make even the slightest move for the way her stomach flips and her heart quickens.

"You stand too close." She chides again, failing to notice the reddening of the serving girl's cheeks, and outright refusing to acknowledge that her own cheeks begin to burn with the same vigor when their eyes meet.

* * *

That very same night Kela was told the King summoned her to his chambers. And it takes every fiber of her being not to act on the notion of beating Alfred senseless for disrespecting his wife in such a way. _A wretched fool if ever I saw one,_ the young serving girl rages as she all but drags herself to the King's private quarters. _If I were Alfred, I would never leave the Queen's side, every single inch of her would be adored, every single inch, from head to toes I would anoint her with my love._

She slumps against the doors in a desperate attempt to collect her thoughts and restrain herself from letting out a deep throaty sigh as her sex pulses hungrily between her thighs, her swollen bud throbbing in tandem with her hammering heart.

She deliberately issues a weak rapping on the bulky oaken doors, at least then she can tell herself that he didn't hear her and she can walk away, free to walk about the palace awaiting her Queen's command.

Alas, Alfred hears.

"Enter." An order if ever she heard one.

"Lord King." She inclines her head, if only to conceal what will no doubt evolve into an onslaught of previously unshed tears later in the night.

Kela's head snaps up to meet Alfred, much, much too close and eying her with an insatiable lust. She wants to be sick. She longs for the arms of her Queen.

"I need you." Alfred husks, pulling her into him. His lips are but an inch from hers and as much as she detests the thought of a union between her tongue and his, she realises with an unrelenting sadness that this is the closest she will ever get to kissing _her._

There is nothing of Aelswith on his lips. He tastes rough and brutish. _How dare this man lay claim to such a perfect creature night after night?_ She rants. _What injustice that this beast is able to call the most noble lady on God's earth his wife!_

"What troubles you, my love?" Kela did not even know she was crying until Alfred wiped a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb, "Have I took liberties I ought not to?"

Kela barely suppresses a laugh. If only he knew just how many times she had envisaged herself in this very same position with his wife. How time and time again she thought of little else other than kneeling before the Queen and hiking up her skirts, lavishing her with all the love Alfred had deprived her of. 

Instead she settled for: "My Lord King, I love another. Forgive me."

He only nods. Refusing to meet her eyes. She takes that as the opportunity to take her leave.

* * *

The next time she is in the presence of the Queen is at the Lady Aethelflaed's wedding feast. Wine is flowing and the choir chant in perfect unity. Never did a more heavenly sound exist, thought Kela.

But then she heard the Queen let out a hearty laugh from the other end of the hall, full of mirth and an inextinguishable warmth. The only thing that shakes Kela back into the present moment is the feeling that her heart may have stopped for the briefest time.

She realises she must have been staring at her for quite some time, because the one they call Uhtred Ragnarson appeared at her side undetected, looking like he had been standing there for a while. He leans in so that his lips are a breath away from her left ear, Kela doesn't have to look at him to know he's smirking. She can feel that knowing smirk churning up her insides. "Does the Lady Aelswith know you care for her in such a way?"

She didn't have it in her to deny it. Anyway, it wasn't as though Uhtred was bound by the intolerance of her god-fearing brothers and sisters. "Do you think I would still be breathing if she did? It makes no matter. She will never be mine." It knocks the breath out of her to admit it, and before the first tear falls and plops into the jug of wine like the beginnings of a downpour, Uhtred places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Be careful, Kela. For if I can see how your gaze lingers on her then in time Alfred surely will too."

This time she met his gaze, "I reiterate, _Lord_ Uhtred. There is no point dwelling on hypothetical's. She-" Of Uhtred and Kela, it was hard to tell who was more shocked when her breath hitched and caught in her throat, "She will never be mine."

"It is a pain like no other, lady."

"Will you please leave me alone, Lord Uhtred?"

He says nothing. Only pats her on the shoulder, but the look he gives her is enough.

Kela spends the majority of the evening flitting from one table to the next pouring wine and, despite herself, laughing at crude anecdotes overheard from Lord Aethelred's men. Yet a sliver of laughter is not enough to sate the melancholy that plagues her, rotting every organ, dulling every sensation.

The sight of her Queen is her only salvation.

"Girl! Wine!" The voice belongs to Alfred, a voice she hadn't heard since the incident in his chambers, when she had inadvertantly told the King that she was in love with the Queen. She can feel the Queen's gaze burn her cheeks as she pours, almost spilling the wine over the brim of the goblet as she tries to remain calm under her gaze.

As a courtesy, Kela dips her head ever so slightly. But Alfred isn't convinced, Aelswith even less. "Is that everything, Lord King? My Lady?" Alfred only nods his head pensively, but it isn't his needs she is concerned about.

The Queen does not even acknowledge her with a response. A pain like a fresh forged dagger plunging into her heart hits her with an immeasurable magnitude. Without another word she melds back into the gathering, setting the jug of wine on the nearest table, and within moments she has left the hall, slinking off into the chapel.

Little did she know, the Queen of Wessex was following close behind.

* * *

The Chapel was eerily silent. It was almost as if sound did not exist within the walls of The Lord's domain. It felt almost as if speaking would profane the walls and the air around her. Maybe if she prayed silently? No. If she didn't say it aloud she feared she would lose her mind. "It is a cruel jape you play, Lord. To offer up my love to someone who can never return it." She whimpered into clasped hands.

"So you do know your place then." Said a voice from behind her.

Kela suppressed a mirthless cackle, _oh, The Lord's wicked sense of humor._ She stood immediately and turned to face the Lady Aelswith. "I suppose you think the pair of you are being rather discreet." She growled, edging closer to Kela with each word. "I know my husband called you to his chambers some days past."

"Nothing happened my Queen, I swear it."

"You will be silent!" The words echoed off the stone walls for what felt like quite some time. She is hurting and Kela can see it, to know that she is, in part, the cause of The Queen's sadness, a thorn in the side of the woman she loves, creates a deep dull ache in the chasm of her soul.

"I see the way you look at him. With your harlot's gaze and your wanton smiles, trying to lure him away from me. You may desire him, as I'm sure a great number of women do, but you will never have him." Aelswith had the girl backed up against the altar. The Holy Bible rested there, left open from the Morning Mass.

She's so close that Kela swore she could hear the beat of her heart. How easy it would be, to cup her cheek, to take those perfect lips between her own, to rake her teeth across her bottom lip.... "It is not the King I desire."

In that very same breath her lips connected with the Queen's. It was chaste, unsure, but full of love. Kela was scared to break apart for fear of what would be the inevitable onslaught of Aethswiths anger, how she was of the Devil, how she was condemned to hell because of her unnatural inclinations. 

But she was not met with wroth, she was met with the tender kiss of Aelswith of Wessex.

The Queen wove her right hand into Kela's dark hair, curling her fingers into a fist but not pulling, just holding as she hoisted Kela up onto the altar with the other, neither of them paying any attention to the Bible that had been knocked to the floor.

She kissed aelswith with unrelenting vigor, moaning as her tongue entered the battle. Kela fumbled at the clasp on the front of the Queen's dress and slid it off of her shoulders.

She began to undress herself, but Aelswith mumbled "No." Against her lips, and took her hands and set them back onto her hips. Without saying a word, The Queen began to remove her clothing.

Kela had dreamed, prayed for this moment, in vain, she had thought. She fought hard to keep the tears of undiluted joy at bay. "It was always you." She doesn't even try to mask the crack in her voice, "Never anyone else, My Queen. Just you."

Somehow they had ended up on the floor. Neither of them cared about the way their skin had stung when the cold cobbled ground came up to meet them. They were now both completely naked, nothing to cover them but a thin sheen of sweat.

Aelswith's lips latched onto her neck, alternating between soft, loving nipping and the rough, possessive clamping of Kela's skin between her teeth. Between the way Aelswith's tongue lapped at the swollen red mounds on her neck and the way her hand kneaded her left breast with remarkable ease, Kela had lost her ability to think.

Then Kela realised the hand was southbound. Before she could prepare herself she felt a cool, slim finger trace the length of her dripping slit, she cursed herself for letting out a loud, gasping moan. It echoed off of the walls, she couldn't allow this moment to be cut short.

With a wet 'pop' Aelswith's mouth left her neck. She couldn't wait, she kissed her Queen passionately. "Listen to me, Aelswith, My Queen." She panted, barely able to get the words out. "I-I love you- ahh!" Nothing could have prepared her for the pure ecstasy that jolted through her body when Aelswith deftly slipped two fingers inside her glistening womanhood.

All her sense of dignity and composure was long forgotten as Kela, the Serving girl, lay sprawled on the floor a heaving mess while the Queen of Wessex made love to her on the Winchester chapel. "Ael-Aelswith, look at- oh God! - Look at me."

At once their eyes met, but Aelswith never stopped the pace. Her thrusts were gentle, loving, and they felt like home. There was a different look in the Queen's eyes now, more softer. No longer full of hatred and suspicion. She smiled, _she's smiling at me, for me, because of me._

Kela let the tears fall.

"There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. _Nothing._ " The sternness in her voice surprises them both. Kela can feel her walls constricting around Aelswith's fingers. She's close, realises. She needs to say this now.

She cups Aelswith's face with both of her hands. God, this woman is an angel. "You have no idea how I have longed for this moment, how I have ached to feel you inside me, my love. I swear to you, My Queen, until the day God calls me from this earth, I am yours."

Her scream is muffled as The Queen captures her lips as she climaxes, Kela claws at the stone floor so arduously that there are four streaks of blood on either side of her which will need to be cleaned up later.

Panting, breathless, they lay there, Kela curled into Aelswith's side.

Once she has gathered what can only be described as a shadow of her composure, she began kissing the Queen's breasts, earning a soft mewling moan every time her tongue swiped an erect nipple. "There's no time now, Kela." She said with audible reluctance.

"But, My Queen, do you not wish for me to return the favor?" The thought that this was it, the first and last time petrified her.

"Firstly, I think we are well past formalities now, you may call me Aelswith." She said with a giggle, never breaking contact. "Secondly, in the midst of our union it seems we have both forgotten that it is in fact my daughter's wedding feast." For a few seconds laughter filled the chapel, that and two women who were looking at each other like they were the only two people in the world.

"Will you come to my chamber tonight?" Aelswith purred, taking Kela's earlobe between her teeth in between sentences, "Nothing would please me more than for you to ravish me under the furs."

Before she climaxed again, Kela replied, "Nothing in this world would please me more, my love."

Aelswith cupped her cheek and kissed her lovingly, like they had been lovers their whole lives, and Kela hoped fervently that from this moment on, they would be.

 


End file.
